


You Lead and I'll Follow

by blcwriter



Category: Star Trek (2009), Star Trek RPF
Genre: F/M, Pegging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-10
Updated: 2009-10-10
Packaged: 2017-10-23 11:52:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/249996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blcwriter/pseuds/blcwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>  Written and posted at Poor Man's Sinfest <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/spellsunbind/9143.html?thread=117687#t117687">here</a> for the prompt "Zoe with a strap-on and Chris wants it so bad."</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Lead and I'll Follow

_**You Lead and I'll Follow, RPF, Chris/Zoe, NC-17**_  
Title:  You Lead and I'll Follow  
Author:  blcwriter  
Rating:  Extremely NC-17  
Warnings:  Het!sex, pegging, anal, toys, tequila-- not in that order  
Summary:  Written and posted at Poor Man's Sinfest [here](http://community.livejournal.com/spellsunbind/9143.html?thread=117687#t117687) for the prompt "Zoe with a strap-on and Chris wants it so bad."  
  
“Honey,” she says, and maybe it’s the tequila talking, or maybe it’s just reckless lust, her body’s answer to that _flash_ in Chris’ eyes that she knows is all for her, the boy is _relentless,_ “the only way you’ll ever fuck this sweet pussy is after I fuck that hot ass of yours first.”

The minute it’s out of her mouth, jaws drop around the table, though not because of her language. Zoe swears like a sailor—dancers and actors are about the most foul-mouthed people going and she routinely makes Karl, who has the foulest mouth ever, blush like a virgin. No—it’s the way she didn’t just say “In your dreams, Pine,” and change the subject like she usually does when he tells her how hot she looks or otherwise takes every opportunity (and makes new ones up) to tell her how much he would hit it and how much she’s missing. “Porn stars have nothing on me, Saldana,” he’d say, and while she’s not really doubtful, for whatever reason she’s never taken him up on the offer. ‘Til now.

“I like a woman with balls—even silicone ones,” Chris says, an evil gleam in his eye and a swipe of that tongue over those plush lips of his that she wouldn’t swear wasn’t conscious, his nigh-uncontrollable oral fixation notwithstanding. “What color is your dildo, baby? Red? Purple? Something sparkly and pink? Is it double-ended? Do you have a harness, or do you like to use your hands for that extra bit of control?”

“Wouldn’t you like to find out,” Zoe retorts, then slams more tequila.

Chris just eyes her appreciatively and says with no false bravado, “I thought I just asked. Are you rescinding the offer and leaving me alone with my hand? Though I do have a talented hand—tongue, too. Multi-lingual, even.”

This sets Karl and Zach and Anton all howling, the vocabulary-laden proposition too much for their little drunk brains to handle. They’re so wasted that they may not even remember this in the morning, not that she cares. Well into filming the second movie as they are, who knows how many times all the boys have slept with each other, another reason Zoe loves Hollywood—pretty, pretty, gender-flexible boys. She’s mostly just watched them make out and go off with each other, though Chris has more than once stayed behind as various combinations of co-stars have wandered off, drunken and not, to fuck in their trailers and each others’ guest bedrooms. _Star Trek, Wrath of the Omnisexual Boys,_ she’s thought more than once. The fangirls are right. Somehow, though, Chris’ pursuit doesn’t feel like she’d be a notch on his bedpost—it’s more of a challenge than that, she thinks. Maybe.

Zoe watches Chris for another long moment, then gives him a kind of an answer. Reaching over the table, she grabs his wrist, licks it, pours on some salt, licks it again, then slams more tequila. When her sight clears from the shot, Chris has a wedge of lime clenched in his teeth, and swoops in to seal his mouth over hers and pass her the fruit.

She bites into the lime, Chris’ lips still over hers, and the whoops and immature cackles of the boys are only a dull roar in the background. His lips—lips meant to give head if anyone’s were—are somehow fucking massaging hers even as she sucks on the wedge. As soon as she’s done—the boy has an instinct for suction-- he bites the lime back out of her mouth and sits back, spitting the fruit onto the floor as he watches her, eyes blazing with challenge.

There’s a self-satisfied grin on his face and damn if she isn’t going to fuck it right off. And find out what else those lips can do.

Sliding off of her stool, Zoe tests whether her heels are steady beneath her, then decides that they are. Chris is actually sober, she knows—or close enough to drive them the short bit to her house.

“Come on,” she says, batting her lashes. “You’re driving.”

He catches her keys at the top of the arc, then grins. “At least until we get back to your place. You lead, I’ll follow. Mostly.”

Zoe ignores the snickers and catcalls behind them and doesn’t bother to put down any money to pay—they’re all goddamned movie stars, they can float her share of the tequila. She’s more focused on that look on Chris’ face, the one that’s a mirror of hers. It says _you kinky bastard, this is going to be unfuckingbelievable._

 __

She gets the door open and the hall light on as Chris follows, automatically removing his sneakers as Zoe starts to toe off her strappy gold sandals. He’s been over before, he knows she’s obsessed with her brand-new teak floors. She hears her keys fall into the bowl on the table, then a following _thud, clink_ that must be his own wallet and keys.

“Make yourself right at home,” she says, an edge in her voice that she doesn’t mean, but this is what she and Chris do, they play up Uhura and Kirk’s bitchy flirtation until it’s something that’s _them,_ not their characters, playing around.

“Planning on it,” Chris says, and before Zoe can say anything further, Chris has dropped to his knees on the floor and has pulled the foot still wearing its sandal away from the floor. He looks up at her with those damned depthless eyes of his—usually blue eyes are so shallow-- for just a few moments even as she struggles for balance, one hand on the nearest wall, then watches, gape-mouthed, as Chris slowly licks his way over each strap crossing her ankle and instep, the press of his tongue hot and firm and precise. His fingers circle her ankle, just above the straps, and when she wobbles a little, one arm snakes its way up the back of her leg, fingers curling into the top of her thigh and the length of him bracing her. Once he’s sucked the buckle on the inside of her ankle into his mouth, his tongue flickers, lips suck, and _damned_ if she’d known that was an erogenous zone before now, a sound makes its way out of her mouth. Her initial surprise-- _the man wastes no time_ \-- shades to a soft gasp at the insistent press of his tongue. She can feel his smile curve on the skin of her ankle, and then there are teeth, tugging the strap and undoing the buckle, and she’s gasping again because that buckle is tiny and he undid it without using his fingers.

She’s standing on her own two feet again, though his arm’s still lining the back of her leg, like a prop for a mannequin that can’t stand for itself-- and maybe she can’t, not just yet, because that tongue is licking its flickering way up the inside of her leg, his hands now gripping each knee and pushing her stance wider and …  
“Oh my God, Chris,” she gasps, because he’s licked his way right under the very short hem of the very tight vintage purple Leger bandage dress she’d worn just because she’d felt like it, and he’s mouthing at the lilac lace nothing thong she’d put on even as she’d abandoned the idea of a bra.

“You taste like honey and spice cake,” he murmurs over her clit, her skirt hiked high in the wake of his head’s unrelenting advance into her crotch, then leans in and sucks at the nub, tonguing the lace viciously hard.

She bites down on the squeal she really, really wants to make, then with what strength she doesn’t know, pushes away from the wall she’s somehow braced her hands upon and pulls away from _Chris Fucking Pine_ sucking her off through her La Perla. Underwear designers only dreamed of what she has right here in her front hall.

“Bedroom—now,” she commands, then takes another step back and peels the dress up over her head, letting Chris watch as her breasts bounce free from the binds of the fabric, her nipples springing cold and hard in the air.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, licking his lips purposefully and rising up from the crouch he’d been in without touching the floor.

“All abs, baby,” he said, wicked grin firmly in place as she backs away from the door, leaving the dress in a pool on the floor as she watches Chris follow, expression half predator, half curiosity.

He follows her back to her bedroom, the wood floor cool and silk under her feet, and she idly wonders if he’d crawl if she asked him to. Maybe later. For now, she’s reaching under the bed and pulling out the small plastic box with her toys as Chris does in fact make himself at home. He turns on one bedside light and undresses in some order that makes sense in his head, his plain white shirt slowly unbuttoned and folded while he stands bare-chested in jeans, watching as Zoe pulls out some of her toys and decides after discarding her thong.

The harness is easy, but otherwise—so many sex toys, so little time.

“You kinky bitch, Zoe,” Chris murmurs, eyes lit like they’re on fire, eyeing the several choices of dildo and lubes she’s laid out as his cock visibly jumps in his too-tight and therefore just-right pants. “Are they designer?”

“Jimmy Choo doesn’t work in silicone, alas, and if Jean Paul Gaultier’s got a line of sex toys, nobody’s told me about it,” she says, batting her lashes, and Chris throws back his head, laughing.

“You have a preference?” she asks, pointing at the small, medium, and _holy fuck, that’s hung like me_ options (as Zach calls it), though she puts the double-ended toy back in her Pandora’s box as she decides that yes, she’s going to let Chris fuck her after she’s done with him.

He doesn’t bat an (ridiculously long, curled dark golden) eyelash as he says “lady’s choice,” then unbuttons his jeans, eyes not leaving hers the whole time.

“Commando,” she says, laughing even as his cock’s falling forward, heavy and hard from the fly that’s not yet fully unbuttoned. “Classy.”

Chris shrugs, unrepentant. “It’s one less thing to track down in the morning when I’ve found out I’m the backdoor man of the moment.”

Zoe shakes her head at the dual innuendo, not bothering to find out if he means cuckold or anal or both—it doesn’t matter, not when he’s eyeing the biggest dildo of all with a swipe of his tongue over those talented lips. She wastes no time sliding his obvious choice into the harness, then sets it aside to replace the other toys in their box and set the lube on the bedside. Chris, meanwhile, has slung out of his jeans, all long lean muscled legs and pale skin, but for the bit of farmer’s tan he’s collected driving around in the sun. She’s joked to him that he’s practically see-though, he’s so very white, but now all she can think of is how his pale broad hands looked on her knees, holding her up as he sucked on her clit. It’s an artistic study in contrasts, the x-rated kind.

He’s beautiful, really, and her breasts are heavy and tingling at the sight of his tall, narrow musculature in the dim of her bedroom—she’s more than a little bit wet at the sight of how enormous and hard he is for her, and a critical part of her brain says “Why the hell are you just doing this now,” but she tells that part to shut the hell up as she crawls up onto the bed, knowing that her taking all fours makes her breasts do gorgeous, pendulous things that drive most men worth their salt more than a little bit nuts.

Chris is worth his salt—he’s up on the bed and pulling her up on her knees just long enough to get his hands on her waist, hot dry skin and guitar calluses on fingers and palms brushing the skin she rubs into submission with Crème de la Mer every morning and night, and then that fabulous mouth of his is all over her breasts, lips and tongue and teeth doing things that Zoe’s sometimes wondered about being physically possible. He’s laving each nipple in turn, tugging and sucking with fingers and lips, and it’s too soon, too quick, not if she’s going to be something besides a useless pile of jello, not that there’s anything wrong with that. But still—the come on set the terms of the game for tonight, and Zoe’s a woman who honors her word.

Pulling away, she watches Chris watch her as she shakes her head and turns to reach for the harness and dildo. “You’re too good with that mouth of yours, Pine,” she says, her voice husky, and Chris smirks, then reaches forward to help with the last buckle over Zoe’s right hip.

As he comes closer, she takes hold of his cock, her fingers barely circling his girth, then gives him a stroke—his low growl of approval couldn’t be any less feigned, and he yields back to lie on the bed when she pushes his chest with one hand.

“Have you done this before?” she says, not because she’s really worried, more as a form of consent, but Chris just arches a sardonic eyebrow and snakes two fingers between her legs, stroking deep and sudden into her heat.

“Don’t worry, I’m clean as a whistle,” he says, which was not what she was asking but nice to know anyway.

“I suppose I’ll have to see for myself, though yes, I am too, pill and everything,” Zoe says, feeling the warm glow of control burst into flame as she shifts and licks his cock from tip to root, then keeps moving southward—Chris gasps a bit in surprise, his “Zo-“ choked off in a wheeze when she goes for the gold and circles his hole with her tongue.

“Jesus, Zoe,” he exhales, a little bit shaky, then makes a strangled “Nnnnrrrph” when she digs her nails into his thighs to push his legs wider apart, then stabs her tongue into his heat without further preamble.

His surprise at the speed she goes down on him doesn’t stop him from spreading his legs like a whore, and she laughs as she stabs and sucks at that tight hole until it inexorably opens, helped along no doubt by her hand stroking his cock. When she looks up, he’s watching her with that curious look that shifts as he blinks a slow, hooded blink and his mouth turns from surprised to lecherous. “Such a dirty girl, Zoe Saldana,” he says, his voice a low rumble, and she laughs into his balls right before she takes them both into her mouth.

“Such a pretty ass, Christopher Pine,” she says after she’s rolled them around on her tongue, meaning every damned word of it, then returns to taste the musky skin under his sac, Chris’ answering grunt strong nonverbal encouragement. He’s ready more quickly than she thought he might be, and when she shifts to look for the lube he’s already dragged it onto the bed.

“Cockslut,” she says, grinning as Chris grips the black protrusion and drags her down for a kiss, one hand on the back of her neck melding their mouths together even as she can tell he’s lubing the false cock nestled tight over her clit.

He’s taller than she by more than a bit, but she wants to see the look on his face when she breaches him. Potential awkward angles aside, she pulls back and settles herself between his legs, watching his cock bob in time with his adam’s apple, involuntary convulsions and she pushes and enters in one fluid, fast push.

“You’re cute when your eyes roll back in your head,” she manages to say, her hands braced on his chest, but she’s flooded herself and is soaking the straps of the harness at the way he arches into the thrust, taking it all in one go with such a greedy whine of a moan that if he does it again she’s not sure she won’t come from the sight.

“Shut up and fuck me, you tease,” he says with a glare, then reaches forward to take hold of her breasts and tug on her nipples. Her arch back is involuntary, but he grabs her fast and tugs her back hard, grunting as her hips come flush with his ass and the hard silicone bangs hard on her clit. She rides out the wash of fluid that trickles again, then braces herself and starts fucking hard with a rhythm that has Chris bucking and cursing “fuck, yes,” with the third downward stroke.

“Gorgeous like this,” she pants, admiring carmine nails and caramel hands on his chest, flat pale pink nipples peaking as she scratches and pinches the sensitive flesh.

“Not bad yourself,” he retorts, hooking long solid legs at her back and pulling her in more quickly than the pace that she’s set. “But you could fuck me faster, unless you’re into this pansy-ass pace that you’ve set,” he continues, and that’s it—Zoe pushes his legs wide, nails digging sharp, and kneels back to drill him with every snap, roll, and twist of her hips that decades of dancing have taught her. It does the trick, and soon enough Chris is whining, guttural mewls and occasional grunts as he works his fingers under her harness and jams three fingers hard into her core, curling and stroking in time with her thrusts. She comes almost at once, the thump of the silicone rubbing her clit and the fuck of his fingers combined with his needy “yes,” as he bucks up into the cock spearing him suddenly too much for Zoe to stand. Through the wave of her orgasm, she gets one hand on his cock and strokes him rough to a release that’s moaned more than shouted.

She pulls out and falls to his side, sweat streaming over her breasts, and dabbles her fingers in the cum streaking his flat, heaving belly.

“Mmmph,” she wheezes, words beyond her right now, and just patters her fingers over his stomach, teasing touches close to his cock while he twitches and moans.

After maybe ten minutes, he turns on his side and says with a rasp,“let me help you with that,” then unbuckles the damned thing with his teeth again, the wettened leather and dildo hitting the floor with a thump.

“You taste so good, I’m not done with you yet,” he says, and damn if the sight isn’t about the most perfect dirty thing she’s ever seen in her life. His hair’s crazy and spiked damp with sweat, spots of pink on his cheeks and his chest as he licks those lips and eyes her with a pure predator’s look, that curiosity for what she might do apparently satisfied.

“I’ve always heard the way to a man’s heart’s through his stomach, so don’t let me deny you,” she says lazily, and Chris smiles wickedly before lying down between her legs for a feast.

She’s on maybe her third orgasm, arching against hands pressing her into the bed as he licks her wide open, tongue, lips and teeth eating out clit, slit and ass with both finesse and abandon when she feels herself rolled so she’s on hands and knees.

“Okay?” she hears him ask, his voice husky and thick as his cock probes at her asshole, and her “fuck, yes,” is more babble than words as he pushes slowly inside, harder and thicker than the toy she pegged him with just minutes ago.  
When he’s fully seated inside, he stills, for which she’s heartily glad because “oh my _God,_ Chris, so fucking huge,”—and there’s a low chuckle before his hands at her waist tighten as he pulls out and returns.

It’s a long moan, a deep arch of her back, the heat and tight press of his balls as he comes to a halt again, and then she rotates her hips, wanting more.

“And you said I’m the slut,” he chuckles, and pulls out to snap back to her heat so fast that it’s a jolt of white that makes her limbs tremble and vision fade out for a moment. The whined “yes” doesn’t sound like it’s coming from her, and then he’s moving again as she pushes back. She screams her way through an orgasm as he fingers her clit not much later, and when she comes back to herself, he’s pulled her up and back until she’s atop him and he’s seated back on his heels, his cock still and totally buried until she feels like she’s going to overflow. Quinto’s apparently not the only flexible boy in the cast.

“Fuck, Chris, please,” she babbles, and he mouths “if you say so,” in her ear before she shrieks in surprise as the smallest of her multiple dildoes shoves into her pussy, the wet grasping ache suddenly filled.

“What do you want, Zo?” he rasps in her ear. “One or both?” He doesn’t give her a chance to answer, just straightens to kneel and widen his stance, holding her tight to his chest as he times the shallow snap of his hips from behind with the deep push of the toy in front.

She loses track of how often she comes after that—all she knows is their thighs are streaked with her juices, the sticky, salty-sweet smell and the feel of the slide of their skin mere background to how she’s never been “so fucking full, oh, _Jesus,_ Chris, please” in her life. His breath is harsh and hot in her ear, and thank God he’s not unaffected even if he’s still fucking her endlessly, the _push pull thrust pull_ timed somehow, she can’t fucking think straight, so there’s just constant friction and fullness and…

It all goes multicolored and sparkled as she screams, arching back into Chris as she rakes her nails over any part she can reach, the noises she’s making detached somehow even as he shouts in her ear and _finally_ there’s a hot burst that isn’t her own orgasm filling her, the throb of his cock practically gagging her. He pulls her down to her side, his arm trapped under her waist as she leans back into his chest, voluntary muscle control still utterly shot. At some point, his length twitches and shrinks, and with a small groan he rolls, pulling out even as she feels him toss the dildo he’d been pumping her with off to the side.

“Christ,” she finally manages, lips parched and tight. When she rolls to her side, facing him, he looks exhausted and sated and yet totally ready for more. As she eyes his cock, it twitches a bit, growing half-hard.

“You’re kidding me,” she says in a whisper. Pursing his lips, he shakes his head, then grins tiredly.

“You’re a hot piece, Miss Zoe, but I need at least a half hour.”

“You’re serious.”

Chris leans in and licks a stripe over her sternum—her aching walls clench and trickle a little. “As a Vulcan.”

She laughs aloud, thinking there’s no way she’ll be ready to go again in a half hour—until she has a sudden burst of brilliant remembrance.

“I have a hell of a shower wand,” she says, curling herself up to crawl over Chris and stand by the side of the bed.

“Really,” Chris murmurs, eyes bright and expression once again curious.

Zoe just holds out her hand, waiting. She’s not disappointed. Long, callused white fingers curl over her wrist.

“Lead on, baby—lead on.”

 _For now,_ Zoe thinks. She can't wait to see how he decides to follow this next time.  



End file.
